The Opportunist
by Wemmabby
Summary: "Her and Duncan. What exactly makes the two of them a team? The fact that he tortured her family and still expects reverence? The fact that she obeys him out of pity?"
1. Chapter 1

_Opportunist- (noun) someone who takes unfair advantage of a situation._

Chapter One

Duncan Carlisle sits on the wet shower floor, preoccupied with his thoughts. _The Sanders really do have a nice plumbing system. I could get used to this._ He reaches for a bottle of men's shampoo and works it into his hair. He needs some time alone to just think. Sandrine and Kramer have been such pains lately that it's hard to just sit back and relax. _They're probably screwing something else up as we speak._

He leaves the bath when the water practically freezes over, although he does consider staying. _I could use a cold shower, especially after looking at Ellen Sanders... no, stop it._ Duncan has noticed himself having these strange thoughts frequently. He can't tell if they are good or bad. He finally decides that thinking about Ellen in that way is nothing but harmful.

He knows that he needs her, and that he may have to kill her entire family. That would leave her with irreparable, psychological wounds that would never heal. Not that she doesn't already have plenty of those... _because of me._

Duncan forces himself to stop scolding his brain. It's not his fault that he's attracted to Ellen. _Wait a second... did I really just say that out loud?_

No, shake that. He just cares about her more than he should. _There. That sounds a lot better._

No, no, it sounds worse. Ellen is a hostage. _His_ hostage. He shouldn't have feelings for his hostage. He cannot become attached to her. That would ruin everything. His plans would be engulfed in flames.

Duncan slips into a bathrobe, which happens to be one of Brian's. It's a little small on him, but it'll do. He wonders for a moment if Brian had ever worn this bathrobe after... _no! Get a hold of yourself!_

He takes a moment to rub his nose against the shoulder of the cloak. It smells like Ellen.

It smells like Ellen. It smells like _her._

Once he starts huffing the scent, there's no turning back. It smells just like her. Her hair, her face, her blood-riddled medical utensils... this bathrobe is like a drug to him. There's no way he can stop. All attempts to stop are hopelessly futile.

He won't quit. He has finally realized this, and it scares him. Duncan Carlisle does not get scared, and he's let this woman scare him. Ellen Sanders is the cause of his dreaded fear. He is afraid of failing her, mostly.

She doesn't deserve any of this. Not his feral behavior, not his unkind words, and definitely not his frisky malevolence. She did nothing wrong. All she ever wanted was the best for everyone. She is anything but the murderer he accuses her of being. Ellen Sanders is much more wholehearted than he'll ever be. Maybe that's what he likes about her. She's a better person than him. She'll always be better.

Some aspects of _him_ are strong, though; devoted, manipulative...

_Manipulative._ He's always been that , somehow, even while holding complete power over everyone, he feels like the weakest person in the world. Does he believe that Ellen could knock him out? Absolutely. Does he think that she's willing to hurt him? Absolutely not.

There is one key difference between him, and the rapist that Ellen killed while in surgery.

The rapist committed a malicious crime unto a small girl. The child resembled Ellen's in more ways than one. She thought about what that experience would be like for her daughter to go through. Then she let him bleed out.

Duncan wasn't like that in the beginning. He stated that he was holding them hostage for a reason. A good reason. One that made sense. One that, in essence, would keep the Sanders safe and out of harm's way.

The thing is, Duncan can make this family do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. That seems to be the fun of keeping hostages; they're like your own personal servants. But Duncan doesn't like to control them like that. He just makes sure that they are punished when necessary.

He realizes that the only one he's really been regulating is Ellen. He's forcing her to murder the president. He supposes that he could make her do other things. Things in bed.

_Yes, Duncan. Because surely she'll want to date you then._

Or do women like that kind of thing?

_No, Duncan. That's wrong. Forcefulness is never the way to a woman's heart._

What are you_ really_ trying to accomplish here?

_I don't know. One minute, I'm trying to kill them all, and the next my emotions start taking over and I'm suddenly unable to function. Or move._

Why don't you just put Kramer up to the task, then? Y'know... have him kill the family for you?

_Kramer's an idiot. He can't do anything right. And even if he went through with it, kept his hands clean and everything, do you have any idea how much Ellen would despise me then?_

Trust me, she's already _disgusted_ with you.

_Shut up._

Duncan tries to return from his haze. He attempts to belt his robe, but it's no use. His hands are shaking so much that he can't tie the ends together. So, he just resorts to slipping on a pair of boxers. He really wishes that his hands would stop shaking.

He heads downstairs, only to find Sandrine and Kramer making themselves some coffee and searching the web. Sandrine sits in front of her laptop screen. Duncan figures that she's just playing angry birds or something of the sort, because her expression is facile and her eyes are weary. She takes a long sip of her coffee. He walks up behind her and she doesn't move a muscle. Surprisingly, she's actually doing her job. She has a file open, something involving Dr. Sanders's work schedule, and is sending it over to Duncan's computer.

"Hey," he pats her on the back. "Great job."

She slurps down the remaining drops of her coffee, and proceeds to pour herself some more. Duncan watches her, a pleased looked spreading across his face. _Well, at least she's not entirely useless._

Duncan sees Ellen approach the stairway. She looks frightened. She probably thinks that someone's going to pop out and shoot her at any moment, and she isn't wrong for thinking it. Duncan's held a gun to her head on more than one occasion, both times being utterly serious. He could've really shot her. She knows that.

She believes that someone she loves is going to die. She may or may not be correct. It all depends on how she chooses to cooperate. So far she hasn't been doing the most amicable job.

He'll give her time to work on that. Not too much time, though.

"I see you've been wearing Brian's bathrobe," Ellen comments, crossing her arms as she glares at him.

"It's quite comfortable, actually," he says, trying to reduce his hand movement. He resorts to placing them behind his back, pretending to stretch a bit. _Real smooth, Duncan._

"He loved that robe," she says with a shake of her head. She shoots Duncan a look, her eyes full of pure hatred. She steps away from him, obviously trying to regain her composure. Her hands are shaking, too.


	2. Chapter 2

_Recollection- (noun) the ability to remember something._

Chapter Two

Ellen strides into the kitchen, scanning the refrigerator for something to eat. She ends up snagging a gluten-free bagel and a small container of cream cheese. Duncan watches her every move as she applies the topping with a butter knife.

"Don't try anything," he threatens.

"You don't have to worry," she mutters, dropping it into the sink. She smiles at him. "Done."

Duncan's face lights up. For Ellen to smile at him is a wonderful but seldom felicity. He suddenly feels heat rise into his cheeks. He covers it by coughing into his sleeve.

Brian hobbles down the stairs next, dressed in only his underwear. "Hey, have any of you seen my robe- oh." He looks at Duncan, who shrugs modestly.

"I was cold."

"I'm sure you were," Brian scoffs, taking a seat next to Sandrine at the dining table. He notices that she's entering his name into the google search bar.

"If you need to know something, feel free to ask me."

"There are a lot of things that you're not going to admit," she replies, taking her laptop into the other room. Brian sighs and heads into the bathroom.

Ellen leans against the kitchen counter and takes a bite of her bagel. Somehow, her eyes land on Duncan. In her husband's robe. She realizes that the soft blue color looks flattering on him. _It really brings out his... Stop it._

She absolutely needs to stop. For the past five days, this strange man has tortured her family to the bone, and she still finds him _attractive?_ Well, she guesses that without knowing him personally, any sensible woman has the right to consider him handsome. _But I_ _know him! What the hell is wrong with me?_

_You know what? It's not even me who's the problem. It's all of the feebleminded men of this day and age. Foolish. Targeting my family and I? That was foolish. That's on him. I'll never do what he's asking me to. Who exactly does he think I am?_

Then she remembers.

_A killer. He thinks I'm a killer._

She remembers him calling her that a few days ago. When he forced her to bury Angela. She remembers.

_"No one can hear you scream out here."_

Just thinking about it makes her convulse with fear.

_"You don't have to do this. You bury me, then you can't kill the president, and you need me..."_

_"There's always a backup plan."_

She shivers.

_"I-I'm sorry but we... Morgan and Jake, o-our kids! I don't deserve this, we told them to run!"_

She feels a single tear fall down her cheek. She remembers when he spoke of the rapist she'd failed to save.

_"You chose to let him die. After what he did to that helpless, innocent girl, who could blame you? You wanted him to pay. Say it, Ellen. He deserved to die, didn't he? SAY IT!"_

_"Yeah, yeah!"_

_"And so does the president."_

_"What?"_

_"That's why we chose you for this project. We needed a killer. Someone who could actually take a life." _

Ellen tosses her bagel into the trash can and sprints up the stairs, her body rattling with turbulent sobs._ I don't deserve this!_ She slinks into the corner and hides her face in her hands. The specters of her past have come to haunt her once again, and she has no control. She doesn't have control over much anymore, she supposes. She can't make these terrible people leave her alone. She can't save everyone like she wants to; someone will have to die.

She wishes it could just be her. It would be so much easier.

Ellen hears the soft pound of Duncan's footsteps approaching her.

"Get up." His voice is demanding and strictly to the point. She slowly rises, refusing to look at him. Memories begin flashing through her mind.

_Brian Sanders shoves his girlfriend to the ground in a mighty rage. She lays there for a few minutes, trying to fathom what exactly is happening. Since the moment she met Brian, he'd treated her with extreme compassion and hospitality. He was the man of her dreams, and he still is. All of that seems to be falling apart. _

_"Get up," Brian orders. His drunken mind is very distant from his sober one._

_His girlfriend starts sniffling, but she reluctantly stands on two feet. A trail of blood falls from her nostril. "You don't have to do this," she begs, squeezing her eyes shut._

_"You're right. I don't." He throws a punch in her direction, but misses due to his distorted eyesight. She begins to weep._

"Get a hold of yourself. You can't go to work with tears in your eyes. Because you know what happens then? People ask questions," Duncan says, harshly pushing her away. His words bring her back to reality. "And they _want_ answers."

Ellen nods and enters her room to get ready, the memory of Brian still on her mind. She hasn't thought about their past in ages; she doesn't like to think about it. Brian was a different person back then. He was just a teenager, after all. The two of them are way past that stage in their relationship, yet the reminiscence still remains. Ellen can no longer deal with the sudden spurs of emotion. It's just too hard.

But she won't give up. Nothing can make her surrender.

She _will_ emancipate her family. They _will_ recover from this.

She just hopes to God that they won't have to destroy Duncan in the process.


	3. Chapter 3

_Normality- (noun) The state of being usual, typical or expected._

Chapter Three

_I need you, Ellen. I've always needed you. But it's not about the president anymore. This is personal._

Duncan practices what he'll say to Ellen, or at least, what he wants to say. The words taste sour on the tip of his tongue. For a moment, he debates whether they really need to be said.

He shrugs, admiring his features in the mirror; as gruff as a grizzly bear. He should probably consider shaving. _Does Ellen prefer the shaved look, or would she be more appreciative of a bearded fellow?_

He decides not to mess with his facial hair. It _is_ his signature style. And besides, Ellen should learn to love him for who he is; not for who she wants him to be.

_Slow down. You don't even know if she likes you yet._

Duncan buttons up his plaid dress shirt. He has a meeting today, and looking spick-and-span is his first priority. No one can be suspicious. He wishes that he could just keep that blue bathrobe on for a while longer, but he must get ready for work. Sure, looking the part is important. If he were to show up at the office wearing only his pajamas, he'd be making a complete fool out of himself.

But he's a lot more concerned about _acting_ the part. Acting like you belong there, acting like you're on top of the world... Performing correctly is crucial.

Duncan stands in front of the doorway, flustered. One, he had to rush his getting ready due to a certain scent that kept calling him back to a particular sapphire bathrobe; and two, he didn't want to depart the Sanders residence. Usually, it's because he isn't fond of leaving Ellen by herself. She is very unpredictable, that woman. But today, he simply doesn't want to be away from her. The thought of leaving her behind saddens him. He wants to spend time with her. He wants them to sit down and have a normal conversation like normal people would on a normal Monday morning.

Normal.

What is it like to be normal?

* * *

The time is four o'clock PM when he receives the phone call.

"Ellen Sanders has been admitted to the hospital."

"What's going on?"

"She has tried to commit suicide."

There's that achy feeling in his stomach again. _Ellen tried to get out of this! She tried to leave me!_ Duncan slams his cell phone onto the ground, watching as the screen shatters. He storms out of his office, bolting for the front door. He climbs into his vehicle and jams the key into the ignition, panting and sweating. _She's okay. She has to be okay._ He drives off, exceeding the speed limit by more miles than he can count. _Hurry up._

The hospital looks fairly vacant when he glances at it. There are no patients being rolled inside precariously on wheel chairs, no one screaming for help, no one begging their loved ones to stay alive. It is silent.

He darts inside, asking the receptionist for Ellen's room number.

"May I ask who you are in relation to ?"

"...family friend," he mutters.

"Well, you seem kinda shady to me, Mr..."

"Carlisle."

"Mr. Carlisle. May I please see some I.D.?"

"Look. My friend just tried to _kill_ herself. Do you understand how worried I am? I need to see her. Right now. I haven't been given any information on her condition, medication, or _room number._ Please. I just need to make sure that she's okay."

The woman sighs loudly. "131."

"Thank you." Duncan speeds down the hallway, barely having enough time to catch his breath from before. As he approaches Ellen's hospital room, he feels a lump swell up in his throat. _How am I ever going to find the right words for this?_ He _could_ just say what he'd rehearsed earlier that morning. _I need you, Ellen. I've always needed you. _

The problem with confessing his love...no, liking toward her...is that he is supposed to be her master. The one who orders her around, the one who consistently impels her to do things. How can he like her? How can he possibly want her in this way?

He finds her sitting in a hospital bed, flipping through TV channels like there's no tomorrow. She can sense that he's there, but refuses to look in his direction.

"What the hell did you do?" he asks. His tone is harsh enough to frighten her, but soft, so that only she can hear.

"I tried to end it," she confesses, shaking her head. "I wanted this to be over."

"It won't be over until you've done what we asked."

Ellen chuckles. "That's easy for you to say."

"How did you attempt suicide?"

"I emptied a few pill bottles. I mean, I do work here. There's medicine at every turn. It seemed like the easy way out."

Normally, Duncan would go on a rampage, bombarding Ellen with hurtful words, incapacitating her, but today is different. Today is abnormal. He lets her off easy.

"Listen. We need you for this project. Your family still needs you," Duncan starts. He wants to tell her how much _he_ needs her, but he figures the point is moot. "You're nowhere near done on this Earth. Do you hear me?" She nods weakly.

"Why do you suddenly care about me?" Ellen asks. It's definitely an unexpected question. _Dammit. Was I being too nice?_

"I... I don't," he says, immediately regretting it. _I care about her. I was worried sick about her well-being when I got that call. I care about her. I love her..._

He leaves, but not before pondering the idea of normality.


	4. Chapter 4

_Cloudy- (adj) uncertain; unclear._

Chapter Four

_Dear Duncan-_

_I'm going to die today, and no one can stop me. I thought that you should be the first to know._

_You've left me with no other choice. I refuse to kill an innocent man, and I cannot live knowing how my family will be affected by my decision. So, torture them. Murder them. At least I won't be around to see it._

_I hope that you realize how idiotic it was to barricade my family between these walls you've built up. Walls that cannot be broken. Walls that are impenetrable. _

_You will get what you've earned one day. You will suffer without refuge, just as my family has. We are afraid of you, Duncan Carlisle. But we will not cower in fear. We will expose you for who you really are. You should enjoy every minute of it._

_Yours truly,_  
_Ellen Sanders_

The email resides in her 'drafts' mailbox. She'd never sent it to him, thank God. Most of it is a lie, anyway. She's not afraid of him. And she assumed that if she was dead, they'd just leave her family alone. If they no longer had her, what good would harming her family do them?

But she is still here. Still breathing. Still vulnerable to Duncan's attacks.

It is fortunate that her captor is forgiving.

She deliberately wanted to die. Doesn't that make her selfish? _No. You believed that you could protect everyone. You'll just have to do it a little bit differently now._

Duncan's lenience has left her tongue tied. The way he sympathized with her was shocking. She presumed he'd give her at least some type of punishment.

She is now sitting in a vacuous hospital room, alone, with not a soul to talk to. The doctors are nice and all, but they cannot talk her through this. She needs someone else right now. _Duncan..._

Ellen tries to fall asleep, but the soft ticking of the clock keeps her awake. _It's fine. Dinner is approaching, anyway. You should eat._ She's colossally famished, but the thought of hospital food makes her sick. That stuff is repulsive.

If this were a typical day, then she knows that Angela would be here right now, conversing with her, comforting her. Bringing her Starbucks and a Whopper and probably some fancy soap or something. Angela was so generous to everyone she met, whether they were good or bad. If Duncan had been acquainted with her, they definitely would've worked well together. Maybe even too well...

They may have been romantically involved. The idea makes Ellen even more disgusted.

_Wait... why is it okay for you to like him, then?_

She shakes her head. It's not okay. That's why she's so worried. It's unhealthy. She has heard of Stockholm Syndrome before. She even did a whole report on it back in college. The term originated in Sweden, when the Norrmalmstorg Robbery took place. Those hostages had clearly pitied their captors, who were terrible, loathsome people who weren't entitled to respect.

But as far as Ellen can tell, Duncan's intentions are relatively ethical. She has no idea why the president must be murdered, but she imagines that the reasoning makes sense. Either the president has done something that is morally unacceptable and the death penalty is the only one that fits, or Duncan and his crew crave a certain kind of power. One that can only be gained from this. Any way, it is still manslaughter. And Ellen is falling in love with a criminal.

* * *

"Where's Ellen?" Brian questions, watching as Duncan enters through the front door.

"I've taken care of it," he offers, making sure to be as vague as possible.

This catches Jake's attention. "Where's Mom?"

"She's fine," says Duncan. "You don't need to worry."

"Where. The hell. Is my wife." Brian stands up, clenching his fists. He leaps toward Duncan, rapidly punching him in the face. Blood begins to form. Duncan tackles his opponent to the ground, crushing Brian beneath his grip. Brian backhands him across the face. In a matter of moments, they are huddled together on the sofa, desperately pounding each other with punches and scratches.

Duncan shoves Brian to the floor and glares at him grimly.

"You can't win."

Brian is about to welt another blow his way, but Sandrine and Kramer hold his arms behind his back. He protests, but they are flourishing compared to him. He is a casualty; they are the culprits. The stone-cold, narcissistic culprits. He ciphers that they've executed his wife already. He can't even feel her presence anymore. She's gone.

"Did you kill Ellen?" Brian asks, though he's already sure of the answer. Duncan stares deep into Brian's eyes, and Brian looks into those of his captor. They are like deep, dark black holes that descend out into outer space. Filled with answers, filled with duplicity.

"I hope not."


	5. Chapter 5

_Melody- (noun) A musically satisfying arrangement of sounds._

Chapter Five

Impulses take over. He has an urge.

The clock reads 3:00 am. He wanders into her room while she's sleeping. She looks heavenly, maybe even peaceful if you don't count the curl of her lip and the twitch of her hands. _Only you would notice something like that..._

He's unsure of how to start.

_"Hey, hello, I'm glad that you're finally out of the hospital."_

_"I still don't care about you, but I'm thankful you're okay."_

_"I love you."_ Too soon? Maybe he should cover the song "Breakfast at Tiffany's". Even dig up his acoustic guitar while he's at it. _Nah, your voice is a little trembly for that. And you haven't sung professionally in years._ It's true, Duncan Carlisle was in a band. They called themselves Pissing on Your Grandma, a name that will stay with him for the rest of his life. Most of their music was distasteful, but there were a few songs that Duncan could still jam out to. Other than that, listening to the band's old tracks was humiliating.

There was one song that particularly used to make the girls drool over him... maybe he could sing that one. He just hopes that the lyrics will have the same effect as they did in the '80s.

He stands by Ellen's bedside, watching her sleep, keeping track of her hitched breaths. She'd been crying earlier, something that he didn't know how to deal with. Brian ended up comforting her, and Duncan ended up awkwardly standing there, watching them, knowing that there was nothing he could do to help her. Clandestinely knowing that he was the reason behind her tears.

Maybe singing will cheer both of them up.

He kneels down, coming face to face with her. She can't see him now, but he's staring right into her. _Sing, idiot._

"You are a life, you are a dream. You've taken everything from me..." The words come out as whispers; barely audible, but still there. "We can't go on, just being selfish. We need to live, we need to strive, we want to learn..." Her eyes open just a crack.

"...Duncan?" she mutters into her pillow. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I'm having trouble falling asleep."

"Well, go back to bed," she says, turning on her side. "Go and talk to Kramer or something."

"I can't. I needed to see _you,"_ he admits. "Ellen..." Duncan cannot speak. His thinking is impaired. His brain is unresponsive. Making smart decisions is not an option.

He soon finds himself crawling up onto the bed with her, his hands wrapping around her waist. She doesn't move a muscle, but her body feels warm against his. He imagines that his actions will backfire and completely ruin his chances with her, but for right now, they are secure.

"Be gone by morning," she whispers, grasping his fingers as he holds her. He didn't expect her to be so welcoming. _She must've enjoyed your song._ Sighing, Duncan forces his eyes shut. If he could, he'd stay up all night just to bind his sight to the back of her head. It was too bad that he had to work in the morning.

Slowly, they dwindle away to the sound of their own heartbeats.

* * *

Ellen jolts awake two hours later, mainly due to Duncan's boisterous snoring. That's when she realizes it. _You are sleeping next to a monster._ Ellen does not lie, or cheat, or play dirty. Nor does she pretend that her record is clean, because it isn't. She's made plenty of mistakes, told dozens of lies. She killed a human-being, for goodness' sake. He may have deserved to die, but now, Ellen was just as terrible a person as he was. Today, she is being held hostage. What is this, her maltreatment? Her mortification?

Apparently she's come to terms with the situation, because she's sleeping with the enemy. She'll probably just blame Duncan for it, though. He let himself into her room and made himself comfortable. And she was far too tired to protest. _Or maybe you didn't want to protest. No, of course you didn't. You let him stay. You feel sorry for him._

Duncan's condition is nearly parallel to hers. They are both fighting for their families. They are both doing a bad thing for a good reason. They're even lying in the same bed together.

Both of them are hostages now.

**A/N: I've realized that these chapters are getting shorter and shorter, and because this one is just under 800 words, I'm going to upload another one later today (if you're reading this in present time). New goal: longer chapters and more frequent updates. Oh, and I've gotten tons of great reviews from you people, so thank you for that. I will carry on writing this till the end! :) P.S. I have a few other _Hostages _stories on the archive, so if you're eager to read more, check them out!  
**


	6. Chapter 6

_Falter- (verb) to start to lose strength or momentum._

Chapter Six

_"Y-You have to stay. Ellie, please..." He drunkly wobbled around their apartment, trying to catch up with her, stop her. His inebriated mind had no clue why Ellen was leaving._

_"No, Brian!" she yelled. The room fell quiet. She was sobbing; so afraid of the world. Afraid of losing him, afraid of losing her dignity. Partly she already had. Her fiance was drunkenly abusing her and she chose to keep it a secret. Ellen was convinced that she could fend him off on her own, but in reality she needed help._

_"Fine. Go. Ain't nothin' but a mistake," he said, coughing up the remainder of the food he had thrown up earlier. Ellen was so tired of this._

_"Why do have to be so bitter a-and satirical?" she cried, feeling sick to her stomach. This Brian Sanders guy was nothing but trouble. She didn't need him in her life. He was only a bother._

_"Why do you have to be such a bitch?" he says subconsciously. Ellen kicks on her black leather boots before storming out., her cheeks soaked with tears and broken promises._

* * *

"Nice garden," Duncan comments. They're taking a stroll through the endless field of the Sanders' vegetable farm.

"Thanks," she says coldly. She likes him, but they can't get too close. That would just add another unnecessary variable to the equation. There is already more than enough to deal with.

"What's for dinner today, Dr. Sanders?" he asks, admiring the freshly grown carrots sprouting from the ground.

"Don't call me that."

"What do you want me to call you?"

She ignores the question. "We're having pea soup."

"But why not something with carrots in it? They look delicious. I think we've all been dying for a taste," Duncan says. Ellen catches him staring at her...her... _He's staring at my ass! What? Why the- what is he-_

"Ellie?" says Duncan. She sniffles. Ellie... Brian's old nickname for her.

"Yeah?"

"What about these carrots?"

"I don't care. Take one if you want." _May as well. You've already taken everything else from me._

"Thank you," he chirps, grabbing a veggie and biting into it like he's never seen food in his life. He starts talking with his mouth full. "This...is...really good." She has to hold back a smile because he's just that cute. _No. Stop it._ But she can't stop. She likes being around him. She likes the way he laughs, walks, talks, _sings..._ She must admit, she _did_ enjoy her midnight visit from Duncan yesterday. Finally, Ellen decides to start facing the facts.

She loves him. There's no point in hiding that.

_But that information needs to be concealed. If your family finds out then your life will be a living hell! Brian will char you alive!_

No, he won't. I'll be careful.

_What about the greater good?_

It'll be fine.

_Sometimes you have to make sacrifices, Ellen._

Haven't I given up enough already?

_No._

Well then.

_If you absolutely, positively cannot deny your feelings for him, then the two of you need to have a conversation. But you simply can't make a move on him! And if he tries anything on you, stop him!_

I'm trying to do what's best for everyone, but I can't just disregard my feelings.

_Then have a crush._

I think I will.

_And keep it that way._

Ellen watches as Duncan chews the hard orange chunks of carrot. "We should go inside," he suggests.

"No. I have to talk to you," she says. He looks at her intently.

"Go on."

"I, um..." the words will not process. "I... I think that we're slowly growing on each other."

"Yes. I'm learning more and more about you everyday."

"No, not that." She takes a deep breath. "Why did you come and sleep with me that night?"

He gulps. She's making him nervous. "I guess I was lonely."

"Well, I'm not complaining or anything, but we can't do that anymore. Maybe there _is_ something between us. I don't like ignoring it, but we have to," she starts. "You and me... it wouldn't be right." Duncan takes a step toward her.

"Can you keep a secret, Ellen?" he whispers. _Of course I can._

"I can try to." _No! What are you thinking!?_

"Promise me something," he says, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. _Dear lord, is he attractive..._

"Anything." _What are you doing?_

* * *

_"Ellen, promise you won't tell," Brian begged, practically pulling his hair out. "I-I had no idea what I was doing. Just give me a second chance."_

_"You hurt me, Brian," she said, squeezing her eyes shut. "You don't get to come back from that."_

_"Please, Ellie." He grabbed her wrist. "I know that things have been spiraling out of control lately, but there is no more control. We both need help. Do you even understand how much I love you?" She shook her head._

_"I don't think I do."_

_"You mean everything to me," he said, passionately capturing her mouth with his. Ellen rejected him almost immediately. _

_"No."_

_"Ellie..."_

_"I said no!" she roared. Weak, but still bold. They stood in front of one another for a few minutes, before Brian took a small, perpendicular case out of his pocket. He lowered himself to the ground._

_"Ellen... before I met you my world was bleak and desolate. And look where we are now." His lips stretched into a smile, but she just stood there idly. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I have to, I-I want to wake up to your beautiful face every morning, I want to make you breakfast in bed. I just want to be your friend. Your husband, y-your one and only. Please." He took out the ring and she allowed him to slide it onto her finger._

_"It fits perfectly," she muttered sarcastically. _

_"Please. It really does fit, though. Right?"_

_"Yes. I see that you knew my ring size then?"_

_"Ellen, enough with the chitter chatter. Would you just answer the question?" Brian asked, smirking wildly. "Will you marry me?"_

_"I would, but like you said, you need to get help..."_

_"I will. But if you think this means coming clean about my actions, you are terribly mistaken."_

_"You know I don't like secrets, Brian."_

_"Trust me. I know. Just this once, Ellie. You have to keep your mouth shut. Please, do it for me. For yourself," he said, taking her hand in his. "Do it for us."_

* * *

Duncan reaches over and plants his hands on her shoulders. He glances around, verifying that they're completely alone. "You're right." He thinks for a moment. "And I'm sorry. About everything."

"Don't be," she tells him. "I understand why you're doing this." She can't believe what she's saying, although somehow, the phrase sounds reassuring.

"That's good to hear."

"Yeah."

Duncan connects his lips with her forehead, patently keeping them there for a few seconds longer than he needs to. Not that she's complaining or anything_._

"Don't tell," he breathes. He turns on his heel and prowls back indoors.


	7. Chapter 7

Consensus- (noun) a general agreement.

Chapter Seven

She isn't so limited anymore. The other day Duncan gifted her a new cell phone that couldn't be tracked, telling her to only use it to contact him if it were an emergency. Ellen's version of the world "emergency" was "just needing to hear his voice."

Quite frankly they are becoming inseparable. When asked who she is closest to in this world, Ellen will spit out "Duncan Carlisle" without hesitation. She didn't have many friends back in grade school. Most kids were envious of her achievements and chose to avoid her instead of competing with her.

She has to admit it, she loves having a best friend. The feeling is new and fresh and she's the liveliest she has ever been. Sometimes, though, she has to remember why they even met in the first place.

_I was nothing more than his personal assassin. He probably even considered me a possession._

She eradicates the notion. Duncan has changed. Something about him is…different. He's less dictatorial, as Sandrine and the others have been bossing everyone around lately. His help isn't needed. Now he's simply endearing.

Ellen waits for him to pick up after she punches in his cell number. She's had an awfully long day at work and it's finally her lunch break. _You cannot wait to talk to him, you crazy psycho bitch. There's something wrong there. __You're both dysfunctional.  
_

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Hi Ellie."

"I thought I'd check up on you," she starts. "How was work today?"

"Lengthy," he croaks. He sounds exhausted, something _she _has dealt with many times before. For her, it was usually due to too many surgeries in so little time.

"I know the feeling."

"I know you do," he says. "Listen, Ellen, I hate to break it to you, but you need to stop phoning me during the day. You're a suspect. If I receive this many phone calls during work, they're going to be suspicious." She sighs, hating the idea of spending her daylight hours without him. Despite her opinion, she settles on doing whatever it takes to keep him safe. _You're overreacting. It's just a phone call, anyway._

"I understand," she says, scratching her head. She has to find an excuse to get off the phone with him, or else he'll pick up on her disappointment. "Hey, you know what? I think I have a patient to tend to. We'll have to talk a little bit later."

"Okay. Don't keep me waiting." _He is so damn cute._

"Don't worry, I won't." _I want to see you as soon as I get off of work, dammit._

"Goodbye."

"Bye." The patient who's waiting on her is actually a cold turkey sandwich and a handful of grapes.

_Oh, the excitement._

* * *

When she arrives home, Duncan is already sitting in the living room. She wishes she could run over and wrap her arms around him, but Brian's standing right in front of her, awaiting an embrace from his wife. She hugs him briefly, but refrains from a kiss.

"How was work?"

"The norm."

"Is that so?"

She rolls her eyes. "Brian, what the hell is going on with you? Why have you been so intrusive lately?"

"It's not _me _who's the problem."

"Can we take this somewhere private? Please?"

"No. We're going to sort this right here, right now, because I'm running out of patience!" Brian bellows, infuriated. Duncan aims his gun at Brian's head.

"Drop the issue," Duncan orders. "Or there _will _be consequences." Brian carefully backs away, not once breaking eye contact with his enemy.

"Do you want to start this again? Do you really want to fight with me?" Brian snarls. Duncan presses his gun to Brian's temple.

"No. You do not lay a finger on her. Do you understand?"

"What are you trying to do _now?_ _Protect her?"_ Brian scoffs. Duncan's eyes narrow.

"We need your wife to be perfectly stable when it comes time to operate on the president. That means keeping her out of harm's way. Even you, Brian. It's now apparent that you can't be trusted around her, or anyone else."

"My wife is slipping away from me, and it's all because of _you. _You've brainwashed her!" he yells, beads up sweat forming on his forehead. He turns to Ellen. "Isn't that true, honey?"

He's looking at her. Those beautiful, baby blue eyes that made her fall in love are an arm's length away.

She could just reach out and touch him; prove him right. Ellen could fall into him, the same way she did as a teenage girl. But her past self was ignorant. Her past self didn't know what she was getting herself into.

"Stay away from me, Brian," she says, acting fearful. In one way she _is _scared. They say that you can't repeat the past, but why not? If Brian wanted to he could fall into drinking again. After all, he already decided to postpone his thinking and go back to hurting her. It wouldn't be long until things got physical.

"Do you have the hospital's phone number?" Duncan asks her, continuing to threaten Brian with his weapon.

_Wait… the mental hospital?_

"Which hospital are you referring to?" she replies, scavenging through a kitchen drawer for her emergency contact list.

"Whichever one your sister's at." _Dear God, he _is_ talking about the mental hospital._

"I have their number. What exactly are you suggesting we do?"

"Dial it," he demands. Ellen raises an eyebrow at him.

"Excuse me?"

"That's an order, Mrs. Sanders."

"And when did you start calling the shots?"

Duncan laughs at her. "Since the day we met, Mrs. Sanders. Besides, we're just trying to help. That's all."

"Stop calling me 'Mrs. Sanders'."

"Dial the damn number."

_Do it. Duncan only wants the best for you. It's the right decision._

She moans. Sending her sister away was a whole different story. Ellen was doing it to save her. Now, she can stop this. If she refuses to call the hospital, she can save her husband.

_No. Save Duncan. Save yourself._

Ellen stares down at the buttons on her phone. _Emergency. Is this really that urgent? _She sighs. _Of course it is. _Ellen is speaking to one of the building's receptionists within seconds.

"It's my husband. He's gone mad."


	8. Chapter 8

_Truth- (noun) the quality or state of being true._

Chapter Eight

Thanksgiving- the first one she'll spend away from her husband.

He's been dragged away by a medical team and she doubts she'll see him again. Ellen doesn't have a choice anymore. She can't pick a side. One has already been chosen for her. She'll be in on this with Duncan forever.

Her and Duncan. What exactly makes the two of them a team? The fact that he tortured her family and still expects reverence? The fact that she obeys him out of pity?

"Do you still want to celebrate?" he asks, catching her off guard. They're sitting in opposite corners of the living room, yet she's still jittery; afraid of misspeaking.

"What? Thanksgiving?" she queries. "What do you have to be thankful for? Your dying wife? The innocent man you just sent to a mental hospital?" Her tone is surprisingly bitter.

"Nina's a fighter. She'll make it."

"She is _nothing _without me," Ellen declares. "You need that bone marrow."

"And you're going to help me with that."

She shrugs. "Sure I will. But I need you to promise me something."

"I can't guarantee anything," he states nervously. Ellen scoots over to him so that they're face-to-face.

"I want to go back to living my life after this…thing…whatever you're calling it. I want my old life back. I need you to do that for me."

"That can't happen," he tells her. "We're above the law right now and it needs to stay that way. Otherwise they'll slaughter each and every one of us." He pauses, taking a deep breath. "Me, you, Brian, your sister…anyone and everyone who's involved will be taken out." Ellen catches herself shed a tear, but doesn't bother to stop it. Before Duncan can continue his speech, she doubles over and weeps into his shoulder. Without a second thought, he wraps his arms around her tenderly.

"I'm sorry. I wish you never had to be involved." He slowly rubs her back, trailing his fingers over her spine. "I never meant to hurt you, or anybody else. It was all to save Nina. And now I doubt she even wants to look in my direction."

"Why save her then?"

"Ellen, you can't talk your way out of this. There is no going back. We've dug too deep, and we ought to pay for that."

She scrapes her face against his cheek stubble, which is surprisingly comforting. "Was it worth it?"

He has to think long and hard about that one. "With all of the people that have died, and with all of the hearts we've broken…all we can do now is make the right decisions…or the _only_ decision… and hope for the best," he whispers, stroking her hair. "So, I don't know. If only there was some other way." Minutes are spent fawning over each other; simply appreciating each other's company. In both of their eyes, this action is prohibited, but being honest with one another is much more important.

"Duncan?"

"Yes?"

"Just so you know…" she intertwines her fingers with his. "I'm not upset about Brian anymore. We did the right thing."

"I know we did. Brian acts very precariously around you. It must be demeaning."

She thinks back to earlier that evening, when she and Brian were having a simple argument. If Duncan thought that _that _incident alone was perilous, imagine if he knew the depths of what had really happened between them. He'd be worried sick about her. He'd want to know everything, just so her could show her how different he was; how much better he could be. Duncan Carlisle may not be much, but he's someone. Someone who cares for her and will fight until the end to keep her safe.

"Who are you really doing this for?" she whispers. "Please, spare everything. I want the truth."

"I don't understand. Elaborate?"

"Do you love me?" _Oh shit. Thoughts are meant to be contained for a reason! Oh shit, oh sh-_

He doesn't seem too shocked at the question. "What would make you think that?"

"Well, for starters, I'm practically sitting in your lap…" _May as well be honest. _"You're always giving me these tentative gazes, like you have no clue what to make of me, the other day in the garden you were _ogling _me, you like my cooking, you've taken every opportunity to get close to me and you're obsessed with my husband's bathrobe because it smells like my perfume. Need I go further?"

"Ellen, I think you're great."

"There's something you're not telling me, I can see it." She stares deeply at him. "Sometimes you act so fondly over me that I think you're forgetting about your own wife. You know, the one you've put everyone through Hell and back to save?" She sits up so that they're not touching anymore.

"Even if I _have _been smitten with you, it doesn't mean I've forgotten about Nina."

"Did you just say that you're _smitten _with me?" She smiles playfully before flicking his arm once. "Does that mean that you've answered my question?"

"No. I haven't."

"Yes! Stop lying!" she teases. The two of them are much less tense. It's like a giant barrier just went down between them; now they can just speak openly. Maybe even pretend that they're unaware of each other. She'll just wipe Duncan's hostility from her memory, no big deal. Secretly slip off her wedding ring like nothing happened. Curl the ends of her hair, trim her bangs a bit, rip up her Doctorate and chuck it into the fire. She's already pulled her brain out of her ear. What's the difference?

"Maybe I _do _like you."

"Like what? A friend?"

"You're my friend," he proclaims, curtly standing up and treading into the dining room. Ellen follows him, taking a seat directly across from him at the table.

"A friend? Do friends sleep in the same bed together?"

"That happened once."

"Are _friends _completely smitten with each other?"

"Is that what you want, Ellen?" he asks sourly. "Do you want this for us? Huh? Do you want to destroy two marriages because you couldn't be bothered to control yourself?" His voice is powerful and mighty. "Do you remember the polygraph, Ellen? Do you remember what we said about mental discipline?" Ellen cringes in fear, praying that he won't strike her, or lose his temper and just go berserk.

"Duncan, please-"

"What do you want from me?" he yells lividly. "At first I thought that we were friends, and then enemies, and now you've suddenly come to the conclusion that we're hopeless romantics?"

"I never said that!"

"So far you've provided barrels of reasons why we should be together. None of those explained why it'd be okay to betray our spouses."

"You have no idea what I've been through!" she screeches. "My husband had an affair with another woman, for God's sake! He's nothing but a destitute old drunk who wouldn't be getting by if it weren't for me! And you know what?! I've been spoon-feeding that man since the day we met. And now, _I'm done! _I'm free from that stupid bastard and I am never, _ever _going back! Your wife isn't like that, Duncan. She's beautiful, and charming, and strong, and here I am, falling apart as we speak." Her voice wanes down to a faint whisper, and she droops to the floor in tears. Duncan maintains silence. Helping her is not an option. Ellen gets too attached to things; people. People that she loves. He can't let her fall in love with him, but he's afraid that it's too late. Ellen crossed that line a long time ago. And he's next.

**A/N: So, updates have been scarce lately, and I'm sorry, I really have no excuse. I also realized that the last few chapters have all been from Ellen's point of view, and that wasn't my intention at all, so next chapter we'll get to see some of Duncan's input. Chapter nine coming soon! Happy Thanksgiving! **


	9. Chapter 9

_Sappy- (adj) excessively sentimental; mawkish._

Chapter Nine

_The surgery is in a few days. I know that if the president doesn't die, all of us will. If I kill him, I must carry that burden. It comes down to which is more satisfactory. Killing a bad man and siding with the supposed enemy for the rest of our lives? Or dying, forever knowing that the president is still out there, still wanting his daughter dead._

_I have no doubt that Duncan will execute me if he needs to. I'm just a hurdle, anyway. I've gotten in the way of his marriage, his life, his murder mission…I'm in the way. I'm only making things harder. Maybe if I was gone, everyone's troubles would be gone with the wind. My kids could be okay. Duncan could be okay. But, I can't fix everything. I know that humans are never truly okay. Even when we first escape the womb, we're screaming and crying because something is wrong. Something is always wrong, even if we don't know it._

He finds the notebook at 7:30am. She hid it under a pillow. A _pillow._ He was bound to discover it there.

She left for work over an hour ago. He passed her in the kitchen, but she didn't even acknowledge him. He doesn't want things to be like this between them. Perhaps lashing out at her last night wasn't the best method of communication. This note seems to be her way of getting back to him. It isn't addressed to Duncan. She didn't even sign her name. She just figured he'd know.

He sets the book down on the nightstand. He knows that he has bigger problems than her, and her stupid feelings. She's like a schoolgirl, passing secret notes to him between classes. _It's childish and ridiculous, _he thinks to himself. _She's ridiculous. _

He wonders what he could do all day while he waits for her to get back. Maybe he should knit her something as a cliché "I'm sorry" gift. Or better yet, write a sappy love song for her. She's _ridiculous,_ so _surely_ she'll love a ridiculous present.

_"Sappy," _he whispers, continually repeating the word in his mind. "What even counts as _sappy _anymore?" Then he rips out a sheet from Ellen's notebook and scribbles down his possible title candidates. He's going to write a song.

_Roses are Red_

_You are the Moon_

_Break of Dawn_

_Beautiful Soul_

He immediately draws thick black lines through every title. Then it hits him.

_Candor and Philosophy_

The name makes him sound intelligent, but not _too _intelligent. Clever, but not _too _clever, considering that it took him all of twenty-five seconds to think of it. He glides the pencil across the smooth remnants of a deceased tree, creating a peculiar, curvy shape.

_W_

He's written one letter. _Progress, Duncan._

_With winters cold,_

_And daylight frigid,_

_How can anyone_

_Build up bridges?_

"Holy shit," he suddenly blurts out. For the first time in over ten years, he'd actually written slightly meaningful lyrics. With a _pencil. _He can't even remember the last time he held a pencil. Fifth grade, maybe?

_Stunning delight,_

_Take me home tonight. _

_Don't remember the_

_Last time I cried._

"Jesus!" he belts, fist-pumping the air. He's on a roll! No, cornbread. With extra almond butter on the side. _Wait a minute… almond butter! _

_Almond butter,_

_Spread across my bread._

_It's from the dumpster,_

_Just like your head._

"God dammit!" he yells, erasing the newest words so fiercely that he rips a giant, gaping hole in the paper. He crumples it into a ball and tosses it into the trashcan. "I can't do anything RIGHT!" He runs down the stairs, eventually crimpling into a pile of limbs at the bottom of them. His whole body aches with pain as he tries to regain his strength, but he can't move.

_"HELP!" _he screeches, eyes darting around the room in search of a telephone. He has to call 911. Or, better yet, Ellen. What if he isn't _really _hurt? And besides, he'd much rather waste Ellen's time than the emergency team's

He spots the phone, perched on a nearby windowsill. It's covered in a layer of dust, and the buttons look desperate to be pressed. "_Dial us, Duncan!" _they practically scream in their high-pitched, whiny voices. _"Maybe Ellen can fix your ouchy boo-boo!" _At this point, he's sure that the buttons are just mocking his very existence.

_"Dial us, Duncan," _they tease again.

"Stop. I'm trying to change for her."

_"People don't really change, Duncan. You, of all people, should know that."_

At that point he is in tears. Partly from the pain, and partly from the sudden eruption of emotion spurring out of him. "I just wanted to write one stupid song," he sulks. "One stupid song for her."

_"Maybe you already have," _the buttons suggest. _"Maybe your song is so stupid that she'll love it to pieces." _Duncan's vision blurs, and all in a moment, he wakes up in a blindingly white hospital room, Ellen standing by his bedside.

"You are the cornbread to my almond butter," he mutters, gripping her forearm. She laughs.

"You are on a _lot _of drugs, Duncan." She slowly pulls her arm away, but he just grasps it more firmly.

"Don't leave," he says. "I-I wrote you a song."

"I'm sure you did," she says, as if she's talking to a child. _Maybe that's how doctors are supposed to speak._

"Howww, can any-one… build up b-riiii-iiiihhh-hhhiiihhhh-dgesssss," he croons, before exploding into a jarring coughing fit.

"I'll get you some water," Ellen says, leaning down to gently kiss his cheek. Her heat radiates through his body, even with the sole, subtle motion. He _would_ clutch her arm again to keep her there, but he's far too weak. He wonders what even happened to him, anyway.


End file.
